Wake Me Before Time Runs Out
by yaygayhooray
Summary: The months drag by. My dreams are choked with memories I cannot erase that I cannot forget. Every day I descend further into my madness, and I must ask myself: how far am I willing to go? How far down must I descend into the darkness of dreams before I am free? How long before you stop killing me?
1. Part 1

Wake Me Before Time Runs Out  
Pairing: Arthur/Eames  
Rating: NC-17  
Word Count: 17579  
Warnings: Sexual Scenes, references to torture

Summary: The months drag by. My dreams are choked with memories I cannot erase that I cannot forget. Every day I descend further into my madness, and I must ask myself: how far am I willing to go? How far down must I descend into the darkness of dreams before I am free? How long before you stop killing me?

This story was written for the i_reversebang challenge and was based upon a video created by the amazing fayelafee. If you would like to see the video you can find it on my LJ account post, or the master post on the i_reversebang page.

So so many thanks to my beta. This story would be shite without you! LOVE. And also LOTS of thanks to my wonderful artist fayelafee, whose fantastic, heart wrenching video gave me such amazing inspiration!

**Part 1 **

"Arthur. _Arthur_!"

"What the fuck do you want, Cobb?" I let my head roll back gracefully onto the shoulder of the man behind me as his thick, familiar hands run down my sides and move ever closer to his destination. The music pulses all around me, inciting the never-ending hammering inside my brain. Forever am I trapped in this swirling fucked up mess of a life that makes my head scream in agony and my heart skitter. I couldn't tell you what's wrong with me. Besides the knowledge that the thumping of the music will continue on no matter where I am, there is nothing I know and nothing I see. All I do is _feel_. The hands that touch me, the hands that glide over my body like a fine silken shirt—that is what I understand in this reality, these hands that know my body like a musician who knows the sound of a perfect chord.

"Arthur."

"Fuck, what?!"

"Wake up, Arthur. Come on."

"Wake, wha?"

"Wake up, Arthur."

SHIT. I open my eyes and silence receives me. The air around me is thick with the gentle hum of machinery, reassuring me that I am indeed back in the real world, or as real as it can be. Damn it, I hadn't realized I was so close to the end of my time; perhaps if I had I would have had the foresight to shoot myself in the head first before any of my co-workers arrived. I quickly reach down and rip at the needle sticking in my arm. Despite my foray into the dream realm being over, a searing knocking persists in my skull, as if my inebriation could indeed carry on into this realm of existence. The truth of the matter is, however, that the constant pounding never leaves me alone these days. My skull plays host to a never-ending percussionist that would rival the talents of any intoxicated fool. Not that is matters, not really. "So, using the PASIV again are we?" I glance up at Dom and give him the glare that he deserves.

"Fuck off," I hiss.

The lifted eyebrow that mocks me makes me want to snarl like some sort of animal…not that I feel any more humane than a rabbinate beast these days. "What the hell is wrong with you, Arthur? This isn't like you. You've never been one to use this shit for anything other than what it was intended for."

My faces twitches, a small tick I seemed to have developed over the past several months, ever since the headaches began, ever since _he _disappeared. It's quite pathetic really. Even mentally I cannot bring myself to use his name anymore. "Yeah well, we all change." Before he vanished I was able to discern dreams from reality. Before he disappeared I was able to dream without the PASIV. Before he left my dreams were my own. Before everything went to hell, I knew who I was.

"Mhmm," Cobb murmurs, eyebrows raised in clear derision.

I bite the inside of my cheek and scowl. He was not supposed to be here today, at least not until this afternoon. He never should have born witness to this. I miscalculated the time. A mistake I shall _not_ make again. "I'm fine, alright? I don't need your approval for everything I do. I'm not a child."

Dom frowns at my remark, ass that he is, before saying, "You keep telling me that, but this is the third time this month alone that I've come in to find you abusing—"

"Dom," I snap, "you have _no right_. Absolutely _none_ to accuse me of misconduct, so I suggest you SHUT. UP." After the years he has spent using the PASIV to recreate his dead wife in some twisted, fucked up reality, Cobb can just close his trap.

Dom holds up his hands. "Alright, alright, fair enough, but I'm just trying to look out for you Arthur. Trust me. I know. Using the PASIV isn't going to bring Eames back. Nothing will."

My heart seizes in my chest and my breath stops. "_Don't _say that name," I whisper. Just don't. I cannot bear to hear it. Not now. Christ, I would do anything, anything just to see him. To have him open that door and smile at me like he always does, make some scathing remark about my hair or anything at all, anything, just to hear his voice.

I push myself up off the chair to begin the incessant pacing—another quirky little habit I've been prone to recently. "_Arthur_. It's been five months now. He's not—"

"_Cobb_," I murmur softly, "I will ask you, as politely as I possibly can. For once, please just fucking be quiet. I don't want to talk about it." Not ever.

"But—"

"Dom! When Mal passed away, I gave you plenty of space and plenty of time. I did not harass you. I did not ask you questions. I let you be until you were ready. And now I'm asking you to do the same. Please." I wipe a hand down my face and take in a deep, solid breath of air. I wish things would just get better already. I wish I could just forget everything. To open my eyes and find that this is all a dream; wouldn't that be an amazing thing? It's just not that simple though. My lover has disappeared. Five months he's been gone. And the likelihood that he's coming back or that he's even alive? None. People do not just _disappear _in our business. Although deep down, I know this, I love to lie to myself that the truth is otherwise.

X

I'm standing on the platform overlooking the gathered crowd. In the distance I can see the bright white of the snow-capped mountains glistening in the afternoon sun. I watch as a single bird glides through the air and circles the crowd, snapping its jaws and mocking the gathered masses with its sharp smirk and cruel eyes. He knows, he understands, unlike those standing in the crowd beneath me. They are clueless beings, nothing more than projections of my mind. This all is a dream. That I can discern. Why my mind chose this particular setting with these particular people is a mystery, however. Dressed in the clothes of beggars, they are nothing more than a ragtag group of villagers, farmers, as if I had taken a step into some ancient drama. Hell, I didn't know the PASIV could even create such a place. None of this is based off of _my _reality. Not to mention that this set-up was definitely not my intention when I went under. So the reasoning behind how I arrived at this place is non-existent. Although I suppose when it comes to dreams there are infinite possibilities aren't there? Anything I have witnessed, whether through TV or any other avenue is a working environment for this world. Yes, I guess that is a logical explanation…

I survey the people standing before me. Their faces are dull, almost lifeless as they gaze up at me. They are nothing more than projections, nothing more than figments of my demented subconscious with no will and no thought. Wait. There is a disturbance in the crowd as a lone figure slides towards the edge of the masses to ease closer to the platform. Long, knotted hair flows down his back, his firm body enclosed in furs and rags, and his stark grey eyes framed in blue. No matter his clothing, no matter the dirt and paint marring his sharp features, I could never forget that face. Not ever. He walks ever closer, one moment below me, the next walking up the steps and onto my platform. He's standing so close. So very close. I can nearly feel his body heat; nearly feel his breath on my cheek.

"_Eames_," I choke out in a whisper. He smiles at the sound and lifts a lone hand. His thick, calloused fingers brush down my cheek ever so gently, almost as if I would break under his touch. They move to trace my lips, first the lower and then the upper. My eyes are entranced—I cannot look away. "_Eames_?" I whisper again. He tilts his head to the side, that ardent smile never leaving his lips. "I miss you," I murmur.

His fingers fan out and cup the side of my face, their rough edges skating over my skin and making the breath catch in my throat. Those hands of his never change, not even here, not even in dreams. The grey gazing back at me glows at my reaction. "I miss you too," he whispers. Leaning in, he runs his lips along my neck in soft kisses. For this moment, for this single moment, it is almost as though this whole thing were real—his hands, his lips, his breath, his scent, his everything. The hand touching my face moves down and curls against the tendons of my neck. "Why have you stopped searching for me, Arthur?" he continues in a soft huff.

The words make my heart constrict and my breath stop. The guilt washes anew and a nearly unnoticed a tear wells in my eye. "Because you are dead, Eames," I manage to say, blinking furiously.

His lips curve against my neck at the words. "Am I?" What? _No_. That's _impossible_. Don't say things like that. Not even in dreams. You are gone. Don't torment me with things I cannot have. He pulls his head back a fraction, giving room for the hand stroking my neck to open wide and encircle my throat in a light hold. The movement makes me still. What the _hell_ is he doing? He has _never _done this before.

I take a measured breath and reply cautiously, "Yes, you are. Five months and we've had no word and no sign of you. There is no other explanation."

Eames moves his head back slowly so that he can meet my gaze. The fingers around my neck shift minutely, settling into a more controlled hold. Bright eyes glint in the sun and I hear the call of the mocking bird in the distance. "If you believe this to be true…then I must show you otherwise, mustn't I?" he murmurs. My eyes narrow. What the fuck is he saying? Eames? A slow grin spreads on his face and I nearly relax. "Don't be afraid, Arthur. You will find me. I know you will." _What_?

FUCK!

The air in my lungs is squeezed out as a pained scream sticks in my chest. NO! EAMES! Stop it! _PLEASE_! But it's no use. The words lie still as death in my throat. With the bit of power I have, my nails scramble against the skin of the hands surrounding my neck, but it does not help. He has always been more powerful physically; this is a certainty. Why are you doing this? Stop! STOP! My internal pleas fall on deaf ears. Eames gives me a poignant look and tightens his hands with a frown. My fingers skitter across his forearms, but it is hopeless. Eames' face twitches as if he is withholding tears and he mutters, "I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry." The pain in my throat and chest seizes me in its grasp and my hands swiftly lose their strength. Oh Christ, I'm going to die. But I want to stay here. I want to stay here with you, Eames! Please don't do this!

Yet as certain as the sun will rise in the morning, the world about me goes black as I fall out of the dreamscape reality and into death.

X

I awake with a jolted cry. Instantaneously I run my fingers along my throat before scratching needlessly at the spot on my arm where I find the PASIV cord has fallen out to lie limply on the comforter. My breath heaves out of me in pants. Impossible. This is impossible. He killed me. But he is nothing more than _my_ projection, _my_ memory. It does not make any sense. It goes against all the rules of the dreamscape world. If I had asked it of him, maybe he would have, but not like this. Not only is the entire situation implausible, nigh impossible, there is also the overshadowing question of _why_. Why would he do this? He has never been violent towards me, well, except in the bedroom, but that is a completely different context. Never in dreams or in reality has he ever done something like this. I push the covers back and stand up. Walking towards the bathroom, I go to get ready for the day with my thoughts still a jumbled mess.

None of this makes sense. I rinse my body off and scrub myself down with soap in a methodical fashion. Is there some loophole that I'm missing? Some fact that I have overlooked? Surely not. After a quick rinse, I towel myself dry and wrap the cloth around my waist before grabbing my can of shaving cream. I lather up my face and stroke a long stripe in the foam with my razor. He killed me. That amazing man I used to know. My boyfriend, my lover…_my Eames_. There. I've said it. I've said his name. Eames, Eames, Eames. Why won't you come back home? Where are you now? Where did they bury you? Or did they cremate your body instead? The thought causes me to choke and drop my razor into the sink. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. One minute you were here in my arms and the next, gone. Just _gone_. I close my eyes and try to suppress the sobs. Shit! _Shit_! Before I know it, coarse tears are running down my cheeks and smearing through the white.

"Oh Arthur, don't cry darling. I'm here. I'm right here."

_What_?! I turn with a sob and stare unbelieving at the figure before me. "No! This is impossible."

"You are chalk full of impossibilities today, aren't you?" he smirks. "You have absolutely no imagination." He takes a step forward and runs his fingers down the dripping foam on my face. "Beautiful as ever," he murmurs. He lays a gentle kiss on my forehead and I scowl.

"_Shut up_," I hiss. "I am furious with you!" The tears course down my cheeks at an even speedier rate as I gaze into his eyes. "Five _fucking_ months and not a word! Five months, you utter ASSHOLE!"

The look on his face drops perceptibly at the words, his eyebrows scrunching in bewilderment. "You keep on saying five months. Have I honestly been gone that long?" He shakes his head as though clearing and gives me a woeful smile. "I'm sorry, darling. I missed you." His question is completely lost to me as those thick arms of his wrap around my body. I breathe in the familiar scent which causes me to shudder. _Christ_. It's the same; that musty cologne and that pure masculine scent that is all Eames, that wonderful scent that never fades no matter how dirty he is and no matter what atrocious shirt he tosses on. My hands skate down his clothed back and I know I will never be able to get enough, no matter how livid or how aggrieved I am, and no matter how heartily I try to deny my need. A nose nuzzles my neck smearing the remainder of my shaving cream between us.

"_Eames_." Christ he's back. He's _home_. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"I wish I had more time, Arthur." What do you mean more time? "I wish I could give you those five months back to you. But I can't. Not here. Not now." What the fuck are you saying? Are you honestly leaving me _again_?! I try to squirm out of his hold but he holds me fast. "I love you."

I only have a moment to gasp as I feel the cold graze of the gun's tip to my forehead.

X

FUCKING SON OF A BITCH! I awake with a growl and rip the needle from my arm. A slight trickle of blood skims down my skin at the jerk but I could give two shits about that. Breathe Arthur. _Breathe_. I take a wheezing gulp of air. I take my totem out of my pocket and toss it upon the nearby table three times before I am satisfied. Grasping both armrests, I push myself up out of the chair and do what I do best these days: pace. What the absolute _fuck _is going on? How can one dream within a dream without meaning to? And how the _hell _did he kill me? _Twice_?! This just is not possible! And the fact that I've had to reiterate that thought a dozen times in one evening is beyond ridiculous. I run a trembling hand through my hair—another of the many annoying little habits I've picked up recently—and rub at my head. The throbbing is beginning again. Damn this fucking headache. It pulses behind my eyes and I shut them against the pain. This whole situation is beyond my comprehension.

I collapse back into the chair and scrub my face. I cannot think like this. The rationality just is not there. And this ever insistent pounding, the damn _pounding_ in my skull is ever taxing on my nerves. _Fuck this_. I am returning home this minute. I quickly roll out of the chair again and grab my satchel as I head out the door, passing a confused Dom who calls out to me with that stupid quizzical look on his face. I ignore him and slide into my car. The drive home is blissfully silent (thank God that we are working close to home these days). Nevertheless, the pain in my head does not retreat. In fact, the pain is worse today if that's possible. Oh how I loathe the feeling.

Once I'm home, I immediately grab hold of the pills. With a single gulp the drugs coat their way down my throat with a sick slimy coating. Blegh. A slight buzz in my pocket has me drawing out my phone. Damn it Dom. I don't need this right now. I press the 'on' button and put the phone up to my ear. Before he even has a chance to speak I snarl, "I'm tired and I have a headache. I will see you tomorrow. _Don't call again_."

I click the 'end' button and turn off my phone which I then proceed to chuck onto the couch. I honestly do not need his aggravating presence this evening via phone or otherwise. In the years following Saito's job, Cobb's fathering instincts seem to have kicked into overdrive. Whether or not this is because he is making up for "lost time", I couldn't say, for that man has never been able to leave things well enough alone. After slipping off my new loafers (a recent, unnecessary purchase that I made in an irritated binge last week), I stumble into the bedroom and collapse onto the bed. Our bed. Call it profane, call it dirty, call it what you will, but I grasp hold of his pillow and bury my head against it. No matter how often I've reprimanded myself over the past months, I have been unable to convince myself to change the pillow case. If he were here now, I know he would be laughing hysterically. I have never been one to be overtly affectionate and clingy, and yet this action of mine tears right through my reserved barriers and utterly annihilates them in the most ungainly of fashions. As I take in the smell, _his smell_, the migraine begins to recede in its assault if only a fraction. What the hell have you done to me? I'm wrapped about a _pillow _for fuck's sake.

But Christ do I miss him, even his obnoxious banter and his never-ending temper tantrums. Every day I'm reminded of him: the hideous clothing still hanging in the closest, his shoes tucked neatly under his side of the bed, the gold watch sitting on the bedside table that he forgot when he left for his last job. I gave him that watch last year for our anniversary when his other one broke; a stupid, silly little gift that he's worn every day since. It would have been our three year anniversary next month, not that I'm counting or anything. However, he would have done something ridiculously idiotic to celebrate. That I can say without a doubt. The first year it was a trip to Australia, and last year it was breakfast in bed and even better, an all-day sex-a-thon. And this year? I'll never know. Curling my nails into my palms, I manage to retain my focus and blink back the unwanted emotions.

A deep frown mars my face (accentuating every premature wrinkle I'm sure), as I consider my actions over the past few months. These wayward emotions of mine need to be reined in no matter how deeply I am in mourning. I am going entirely against my better judgment by using the PASIV as I have been. Hell, I bore witness to its effect on Dom first hand. And yet…this time under the PASIV was unlike any of my previous experiences. Being in the dreamscape has always been a way to connect to my memories with him—the touch, the sounds, the smells, the sights, everything. However, it was not my memories today. I went down two levels without conscious effort. The lowest level of which, I had no part in creating. It was a world onto its own. And he was so different this time, so _real_, as if we were here in the present and not merely in distant remembrances. Up until now I have always believed that one's memories under the PASIV were as real as it could get. But I was wrong. The hand touching my face, the fingers gouging into my esophagus…that was no memory and no accident either. He _meant _to kill me. And that itself goes against the designs of his projection. Argh!

The only logical deductions are that I am either going absolutely mad, or there was something off about the damn dreamscape itself. The latter, however, makes no sense though. Even if the device had been tampered with—which is hasn't—one's projection, memory or otherwise, cannot kill you. Not to mention that even _if _Eames could attack me, he wouldn't. Fuck. Is this what happens after enough time and misuse? The object of your affections, your very own memory, turns against you? Then in your delusion, you begin to lose sight of the literal deception that is created by the PASIV? If I honestly can no longer tell the difference between reality and dreams, like today, then how can I do my job? How is it that I have lost so much control over myself? Oh yeah, that's right Arthur, you've spent the last three and a half fucking months doing nothing but use the damn machine to _reminisce_. A terrible idea. A fucking terrible idea. I have to stop this right now or else I won't be able to drag myself back. However, if I stop now…if I stop now then it really is over. I'll have to say 'goodbye'. I'll have to say 'goodbye' to my lover forever. _Eames_. Oh Christ, I cannot do this. Forever is too long.

These thoughts do not desist as I lie in wait for sleep. I am still lying in bed when the sun sets and the shafts of moonlight begin to pool through my window. Sleep refuses to come.


	2. Part 2

_Note to Readers: _This story is completely written. There are a total of 4 parts which will be posted soon enough.

**Part 2**

Smirking down at me, my boyfriend leans in next to my ear and pants out, "Fuck you're beautiful, Arthur. Spread out just for me." I toss my head back as his hips shift. _Nngh_. "Just. For. Me." He punctuates each word with a mind-numbing thrust that has my words sticking in my throat. _Oh God_. My nails dig deep into his back as I roll my hips up to meet him. Everything is too hot, too stifling, too much. I just—just—want to—_fuck_. "Come on, Arthur," he growls. "Come for me."

The words rip through me. "Eames!" I come with a fierce shudder, my whole body quaking in his arms as a near violent howl tears out of me. His broad hands tighten about my waist, the fingers pressing hard into my flesh and the nails scratching thick lines down my side. With two more haphazard thrusts, my lover comes with a shout, spilling hot and quick inside of me. I resist the urge to smile at the feeling and instead settle on wrapping my still shaking arms about his back as he collapses on top of me. "You great oaf," I murmur.

"You weren't complaining just a moment ago." I can practically hear the leer in his voice.

"Shut up."

"I love you too." I can't help but smile at the words. You sap. I bury my face into his neck with a sigh and nearly drift off. Not that I would. This is a dream after all. "I do love you, Arthur." I shake my head. You already said that.

"I love you too."

"That's why I'm sorry I have to do this." Huh? Do _what_ exactly? He kisses the side of my neck as he sneaks a hand under the pillows. Don't try to distract me. This isn't how this memory is supposed to end… "Never forget that I love you. Never." Holy fucking hell. The cool barrel of his gun slides up my neck. I still. "This is for us. Just remember that and everything will be alright. I have very little time, so keep on dreaming, darling. Dream of _us_." The gun clicks cold and ruthless next to me.

I startle awake and nearly fall from the bed. I wrench the needle out of my arm and grab at my pounding skull. FUCK FUCK FUCK! Not again. This isn't happening. This cannot be happening. I'm going crazy. I honestly don't understand. I really must be going insane. Against my better judgment, I grab my cell from the bedside table and immediately click the number 2 speed-dial. After four rings, I get a response. "What do you want Arthur? You do realize that it's four in the morning, right?"

Damn it. I groan and rub at my gritty eyes, forcing back the wave of pain searing my head. Shit, I guess it could be worse. Better to ask him while he's half asleep and too exhausted to pester me with questions. "When you used the PASIV to dream of Mal, did she ever kill you?"

There's a long pause. "_No_. Arthur, you know that's not possible. She was nothing more than a projection. Projections can't harm their creator. You know this."

"Yeah, yeah, okay fine. I'll see you at work."

"Wait, now hold on a second. What's going on, Arthur? This isn't like you." Ugh, the mothering version of Cobb has stepped in. Fuck off, Dom.

"Nothing. I'll see you later today."

"Oh no no no. If you hang up on me, so help me, I will drive over there right now."

UUGGHH. This was a huge mistake. I blame my poor judgment on the lack of sleep. I suppose there's no point in beating around the bush. It's not like Dom doesn't know what I've been doing; and it's not as though he won't pester me mercilesslyuntil I cave. "He killed me."

"What are you talking about?"

Sighing, I flop back onto the pillows. Come on Dom, if you're going to ask questions then keep up. "When I've been using the PASIV, he's killed me. Three times as a matter of fact." Almost unconsciously, I shift over onto his side of the bed and snuggle in against his pillow. I take a shuddering gulp of air and breathe in the lingering smell. _Fuck_. Despite what has just happened my whole body relaxes and for a moment I almost believe the illusion that I could fall asleep like this. Almost.

"You mean Eames?"

"Well obviously."

"That's not possible," he replies all seriousness.

Well deducted, Cobb; as if I haven't been saying that to myself non-stop for the past forty-eight hours. "Yeah, well, it is now apparently. He strangled me and then shot me point blank in the head—twice."

There is long silence. Umm, Dom? "Are you absolutely sure that you were using the PASIV?"

The fact that he's questioning _me_ is a big red flag. He's worried and that's never a good sign. Cobb is notorious for pulling things off with a half-assed plan and almost no preparation. If he's concerned…well this bodes poorly for me. "Yes, I'm positive."

"Alright, go to sleep—_without the PASIV_—and I will see you first thing in the morning. We'll discuss it then, okay?" Already I can hear the cogs chugging around inside his head. I suppose this was not a complete disaster. Cobb may be a bit insufferable at times, but he has a good mind and that's always useful.

"Okay, I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Dom."

"Good night, Arthur."

I toss the phone back onto the end table and huddle under the covers. I don't even bother straying from his side of the bed. If I want any semblance of sleep this is the only way. Urgh. When did I become so dependent on him? When did it all shift from a want to a _need_? I can still feel him; thick fingers spreading over my ribs and down my waist, pulling me flush against his body and his face digging into my neck to snore softly in my ear. This situation is outright pathetic is what it is. I just want you to come home. I want to wake up with you beside me, sprawled across the bed as if you own it while I'm forced to curl up in the corner. Ever so gently, I trace my fingers down along the comforter and sigh. I am utterly pitiful. You've been gone for five months now. Why can I not say 'goodbye'? What makes one little word so difficult? Even when you left for the last time, I could not say the word. But then, you and I were never good at farewells. You and I both would distract the other from saying our 'goodbyes' until one of us was literally running out the door with nothing more than a hollered, 'I love you'. I cannot lie to myself though: the guilt still eats me alive at times. We spent the morning fucking and joking, but not once did I bid him farewell. I should have, I would have, if I had but known; however, I didn't. I did _nothing_ to keep him home. I did nothing to stop him from leaving.

"_I'll be gone nearly three weeks. Think you can manage without me?"_

"_Seriously you're asking _me_ that? It'll be a nice break."_

"_Bloody tosser." He strides over to me and walks me backwards till our bodies hit the wall. Leaning in, he kisses a rushed line up my neck before capturing my lips. The kiss is little more than greedy mouths and clashing teeth, tongues dueling for dominance in reflection with our hands. Wrapping his fingers tightly around my wrists, he slams my arms against the wall and shifts his hips against mine. Damn it! I struggle in his hold as his hips start to grind against me. No, no, no, this always gets me off way too quickly. Not in my pants. Not again! Despite my struggles he doesn't release me, although truthfully I can't be bothered enough to care. I roll my pelvis without a thought and whimper into our frantic kiss. He pulls back at the sound and stops moving completely. No. NO! Finish it! He smirks at the pathetic whine that tumbles out of me. "Are you going to miss me?"_

"_N-not if you don't finish this," I pant._

"_And if I don't?"_

_I barely manage to wheeze, "I'll kill you."_

_He tsks me. "Oh darling, your threats are losing their edge." He thrusts against me once in a torturous tease. "If I don't leave in the next five minutes, I'm going to miss my flight." How can you be talking about that at a time like this? How are you even forming complete sentences? I don't give a damn about your flight. I just want you to make me come._

"_Please."_

"_Please what?" he whispers._

"_Please." I'm not even sure what it is specifically I'm begging for. I simply want him._

_He smiles, that big wide smile that makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. It nearly makes me scowl. "Okay, darling." Faster than I care to comprehend, he has his trousers undone and is pulling down my pajama bottoms. So swiftly does he handle this problem that it takes me a moment to realize that one of my hands is free. Next thing I know, my eyes are rolling back in my skull and my head is crashing into the wall. He squeezes me tight when I moan. "Christ, you are gorgeous. I could spend all day fucking you. But Arthur, love, you gotta help me out here." Help you—oh! I skim my hand down his chest and then grasp hold of his cock. The pleasure is sweet, intense, and painful. Everything is hot and overwhelming. Mind-numbing. "Arthur, look at me." My eyes drag open and I see him, I see all of him and it is glorious: the swollen lips, the flushed cheeks, and more than anything else, the blazing look in his eyes as if he could devour me, that look that tells me I will always be his. "Come now."_

_I don't know how I do it, but with a final pull, I'm gasping out my orgasm. Oh God! My body relaxes as it comes down from its high. I don't know when it happened, but my boyfriend's cock is tight in my hand as he drips hot and wet down my fingers. We stand there staring at one another, panting. After a minute, the hand holding my other wrist in place slowly makes it way down to cup my chin. He touches his lips against mine is the softest of manners before letting go. "I love you."_

"_I love you too," I murmur._

"_Now, help me get cleaned up. If I'm late because of you, I'm going to chain you to the bed next time and fuck you senseless." My cock gives a weak twitch at the idea causing my lover to burst into laughter. "You are utterly insatiable."_

_I snort. "If you're late it is going to be your own fault. You were the one that decided we needed to stay in bed for an extra two hours this morning. I tried to warn you."_

"_Ahem, pardon me you pretentious arsehole. You didn't try to stop me once. In fact, you were _begging _me to stay and we all know that I don't turn down such nice requests."_

"_Shut up." I can feel a dull heat flaming my cheeks._

He was out the door less than two minutes later, the two of us hissing insults and endearments until the very last moment. Perhaps deep down we knew that at any given moment we could wind up dead somewhere in a gutter; that we might never see each other again. Maybe it was the best way to forget the nastiness our job sometimes entails. Maybe, just maybe, by never saying 'goodbye' we could pretend that we would never have to. Or perhaps I'm just being a complete idiot and looking into this far more than necessary.

I need to let go. I need to say 'goodbye' and be done with it. But I'm not going to—not yet. First I need to solve this mystery. Stopping my overuse of the PASIV can wait just a bit longer. I know it's an excuse and a bad one at that. Nevertheless, my excuses are better than the alternative (as I've been telling myself for over three months). Everything is better than the alternative.

X

"You look like shit."

"Thanks Dom."

He holds up his hands in defense. "Hey, don't bitch at me. You are the one who was up at four in the morning."

I close my eyes and count to five. I must reign in my temper. I must reign in my temper. It is the only the lack of sleep. "Dom, you're an ass."

"Yeah, and you're a complete idiot. After everything that you've been through and everything you've witnessed how the hell did you let things get this bad? You're supposed to be the intelligence officer."

Fucking dick. I want to be angry at him. I want to shout at him, scream at him, _blame him_; however, I know better. The truth is there to see—he's absolutely right. "I don't disagree with you, but you're still an absolute prick."

Dom's lips twist into a wry smile. "I know." Settling himself in a chair, he motions me over to adjacent seat. "Come on, we've gotta talk about this." Sighing, I follow his lead and sit myself down. This day is going to be very long indeed. _'Patience, darling. Don't you have any patience?' _Get out of my head! "Arthur? You still with me?"

"Yes," I hiss. "Of course."

Dom leans back in his chair. "Okay, now tell me everything about what's been going on. And seriously Arthur, I mean _everything_. I was unfortunate enough times to hear you two going at it. I don't care if you don't think it's important or that it's personal. If you can't get over that then we might as well not be here."

I blow out a harsh breath. "Fine. I'll tell you everything."

X

"I know this doesn't make sense, but from what you've described to me, it's as though you're in a shared dream and someone is creating a forgery of Eames." My immediate response is a glare. How many times have I told you not to say that name?

"First problem with that is how can I be in a shared dream when there is no one else there? Proximity is important. And besides, what would be the purpose behind acting kind towards me then killing me to wake me up? If someone sharing my dreams or memories wanted to hurt me, torture would be the obvious choice. That would be far more effective than killing me."

Cobb taps a finger on the table as he considers my words. "I know it is unlikely, but how do you know you aren't sharing the dream? You always use it alone. How can you be certain that after you fall asleep someone isn't joining in?"

Cobb, you're smart. Don't put doubts in my mind. "How can that possibly be if I'm the first to awaken? They'd still be there."

Lips pursing, Dom replies, "Point taken. Well, then how about this thought: there is a form of dream sharing going on, that is a certainty, _but_, it is happening from a distance."

Did we not just discuss the unfeasibility of that? I sigh, frustrated. "Dom—"

"No Arthur, wait. Hear me out." Okay. What is it? My partner looks at me, his face pulled into an expression I don't quite understand. "I was talking to Yusuf the other day about some new sedatives he's been working on. It's really fascinating actually, he's been working on using—" the words stop the moment he catches my expression. Dom, back on topic please. He coughs and then says, "Well, yeah, _anyways_, Yusuf was telling me about some rumors that have been flying around. In fact, I'm surprised you haven't heard about it already. This sort of thing is _your _job after all." I hear a practically inaudible growl. It takes me only a few seconds to realize that it is me. "Yeah, okay okay. Well apparently, there is a group attempting to create a way to share dreams over distances. I don't know how accurate the rumors are or whether they've actually accomplished anything. However, it is a thought."

Taking in a large gulp of air, I consider the thought. Is it possible? Could someone really be invading my dreams without my knowing it? "So you're saying that there is a possibility that this group has created a way to share my dreams from a distance?" When the thought fully registers in my brain, everything comes to a stop. Someone might be invading my dreams and memories…with _him_? Suddenly I want to hurl. And almost a second later I want to scream.

"Arthur. Arthur!" I don't listen to him; I'm already standing and moving about in jerky strides. This. Isn't. Happening.

I turn around to face the only other human in the room and hiss, "Cobb, if you don't get me something to shoot in the next ten seconds, I'm going to spell my name on your chest with bullets." I am not kidding you, Dom! Give me something to _fucking SHOOT! _I pull out my gun and cock it.

"Okay! Okay! Come on, to the training area!" Grasping my wrist, he drags me along to our small matted area that we use for exercising. "Now stay there and don't move!" He races away and comes back with a handful of coke cans. Disgusting. Is that what you've been drinking the entire time we've been working here? He quickly lines them up on a table across the room and steps away. "Try to hit the cans so that the holes in the wall are slightly smaller." I lift my gun as he finishes with a, "Please."

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. I listen to the sound of each bullet with a furious vengeance. I will murder _anyone _who has been fucking around in my head. _Anyone_. The sound of the shots rings loudly in my ears, deafening me. I look at the cans rolling about on the floor and the small holes in the wall. Panting, I let my gun arm fall slowly to my side. "Feel better?" a voice says from behind me.

"A little."

"Good. Now that your tantrum is over, can we get back to trying to figure this out? If our theory is correct, we're going to have to do some investigating and fast. If there's a breach in our security, then we can't do our jobs. I'll call up Yusuf and try to get that contact from him tonight."

We? Oh no, I don't think so. Sighing, I turn around and stare at Dom. "This isn't your problem. It's mine." There is no need for your meddling.

The answering look is little more than an unimpressed stare, eyebrows raised and lips pulled thin. "Arthur, you would never allow me to do a mission like this on my own. We're friends. We're a team."

"Will you interfere with this even if I tell you, 'no'?"

When I see his smile, I know. Damn it Cobb! "Of course."

I narrow my eyes, nevertheless he just smiles harder. You're such a jackass. "You have a family. Even though our jobs are mostly legal now, I don't want you getting into some shady business for me."

Clapping me on the shoulder, Dom gives it a quick squeeze. "We're in this together, Arthur. Deal with it."

Christ. "_Fine._" Just don't make me regret it!


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

"That is not what I meant!" I yell, my voice hoarse. "You _know _that's not how I meant it!" Five minutes already we've been screaming at one another. I hate it when we fight. I absolutely loathe it.

"Then what did you mean precisely?" he snaps back. "Sorry, we've had a great run, but now I need to bugger off and spend some time to sort out my feelings? Oh yes, totally chuffed about that, darling. Send me a message once you've taken your head out of your arse!"

"Stop! Just stop!" I shove at his shoulder, but that only enrages him further. Heaving me back against the wall, he crowds into my space and leans in, his face close to mine, teeth bared. I let him push me around because it's easier to give him an outlet for his anger, even though I know he could hurt me without meaning to.

"Come on, Arthur. I'm waiting," he seethes. He pants into my face and I find it difficult to collect myself. But then, that's the problem isn't it? We've only been living together a month and already I feel completely overwhelmed. I have no fucking _space_.

"What I was _trying _to say, you fucking bastard, was that I can't _think_. Since we moved in together, you're always here and I don't know how to handle it. I can't work. All I can think about is _you_, you dick. And it's driving me insane. You're always distracting me. I need some alone time, some _me _time. I can't function without it."

He stares blankly at me for all of five seconds before slamming his lips against mine. I dig my hands into his hair and pull him to me without hesitation. Gods yes. This is so much better than fighting. So much better…

My eyes flutter open and I roll over to find Dom in the bed across from me, illuminated by the lone light still on in our room. Without conscious thought I reach down my arm and find nothing there. Oh yes, Dom forbade me tonight. Prick. Bizarre, I didn't know I could dream anymore without the PASIV. I thought I had reached the point beyond that. I suppose there is still hope left for me after all. It is only then as I'm lying there, that I feel that there is dampness on my face. What. The. Hell. I lift a trembling hand and wipe at my cheek. Oh Christ. I was literally _crying_ in my sleep. Could I possibly be degraded any further than I already have been? Cobb snorts out a snore and turns away from me. Sitting up, I scrub at my face. How long will it take? How long until I can let you go? How long until the ache in my chest disappears? How long until the tears dry up and there are none left?

I get up and go rinse and wipe down my face before crawling back into bed. I lie down and stare at the ceiling. Although I cannot see it well in this lighting, I know that the wallpaper on the ceiling is a green paisley color. I bet there's a shirt in the closet back home that color. My boyfriend was never really known for his sense of fashion. Quite the opposite, actually. I've always hated those paisley shirts of his, or at least that's what I always told him. However, deep down, if I'm completely honest with myself, I don't think I really actually minded them all that much. I could look into a crowd of a thousand people and I would still be able to find him. They were really one of kind. Like him.

My eyes burn. It's time to go to sleep and I wish I could. However, it already happened once tonight. I don't expect it to happen again. Off and away, to dreamland we take. Rhyming does nothing to help, Arthur. Go to sleep. Closing my eyes, I try to let my mind drift. Yet, the task seems hopeless.

As per usual, I am proven right when I lie in bed for the next two hours, waiting for the alarm to ring beside me.

X

We meet with a contact here in Seattle, an acquaintance who will only speak to us via appointment. Despite his outward appearance, he is neither quick nor efficient and whittles away half our day with meaningless conversation before revealing that he has nothing to offer us in the form of helpful information. I could strangle the bastard. Fortunately for us though we have another friend in the area who we meet over dinner.

We're settled down in a secluded corner of Sostanza, a nice, pricey Italian place with views of Lake Washington. Wine has been poured and bread has already been placed on the table. I take a sip of the wine, dry and red—I've had better, but it'll do. A waiter takes our orders and disappears into the crowd, leaving us to our conversation.

"So what do you want to know?" our friend murmurs. He swirls the wine in his glass about, almost as if it were an unconscious habit. Maybe it is. "I'm leaving town tomorrow and you won't be able to get ahold of me for a month."

Dom cuts in before I get the chance to even open my mouth. "We're looking for a group. We've heard rumors that there's a group working on long distance dream share and manipulation. Is there anything you know about it?"

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. Good or bad reaction, I don't know. "News travels fast, I see. I just heard about it myself a week or so ago when I was in Reno for a job. I was warned that there might be a share of them working out of Sin City. I don't know if the rumors have any validity or not, but that's what I've heard."

I gaze at him steadily. "So that's it then, you don't know anything else about them?"

"No. The available information is very limited. And from what I've gathered, these people are keeping their mouths sealed very tightly. With how reticent they are, I'm fairly surprised that any information was leaked at all." He takes his napkin from the table and spreads it over his lap. He grabs a piece of bread from the center of the table and puts a generous portion of butter on it.

"Who did you hear all of this from? Is there any way to gain access to them?" Cobb says.

He takes a slow bite and considers our request. After swallowing, he replies, "I can give you his email, but beyond that I can't help you. You know how these things are."

Dom replies, "We understand."

The food is brought over to the table and our conversation stops. Damn it. Dead end.

X

I fucking hate this place. I've only ever been here once; I didn't like it then and I do not like it now. Why I am here now is completely absurd. When I went under, the intention was to try to go back down to that place where he first killed me so I could attempt to understand, so that I try to uncover some answers. Therefore, I am utterly baffled why I've been tossed into this particular memory. Hell, I prepared for a full week to get this right, and yet now here I am, standing at the window of a hotel room and gazing out over the city of Morocco. Although a popular tourist destination, I never understood the appeal of the place; it's hot and crowded, causing me to sweat in an utterly uncouth way. After the one job here, I swore never to come back, even in dreams.

"Filthy place, isn't it?" I feel a solid presence at my back and a pair of hands creeping their way up over my ribs.

"I thought I told you I never wanted to come here again." I tilt my head to the side as his full lips catch on the skin of my neck. "This place is disgusting." Teeth sink into my flesh. Gasping, my hands seek out his and grasp on. I cannot lose focus. I must remember why it is I'm here. This isn't him. This isn't _my _memory, not really. He sucks at my neck, teeth and tongue making their mark upon my skin. _Shit_. Focus, Arthur. Focus! "So tell me, why are we here?"

"Hmm?" he mumbles into the crock of my neck.

Leaving one hand still, I allow my other fingers to reach up and clench into his hair. "Why are we here?" I reiterate.

He lifts his lips barely above my skin and murmurs, "Because I knew you would never come to this place of your own choosing."

"And what," I tighten my grip in his hair causing him to give a pained grunt, "does that mean?" I move my head till I can feel his hair against my cheek. "You are not him. You can't be."

"I don't know what you mean," he forces out.

"You. Are. Not. Eames. Who are you?" My heart gives a little jolt at the name and if it is possible, my hands clench tighter.

The lips resting on my skin curve into a smile. "Of course I'm Eames. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have brought you here to this time and this place." Oh Christ. His tongue laps at my neck and his teeth press harsh into my skin. No, _stop_! I can't think when you do that! This is wrong. You can't be him so do not touch me like that, like you know every bit of my body. His hand glides down my abdomen and presses hard against my erection.

"NO!" I tense my body and attempt to twist out of his hold. Anticipating my step, he moves with me, managing to hold onto my squirming body. What?! This is fucking outrageous! No one has even been able to block that move. Well, except for _him_. How could this man possibly know how to counteract that? Gah!

"Darling, please stop. Shh, shh." I stop thrashing, but remain stiff in his hold. Don't talk to me like that, like you are my lover. "You must believe me. I don't have time to convince you otherwise." Convince me? Stubble scraps my cheek as he lifts his face and then turns towards me. He licks at my lips and I shiver. Stop it! Despite my reluctance, despite every part of my brain screaming at me, my body relents in an instant when his lips cover mine. It feels so real, so right, almost as if it really was my boyfriend here and now. Not a dream, not a memory, not even a forgery, but simply reality. My mouth opens without my consent and his tongue is tracing every place it can get. Oh _fuck_. I do not resist as his hands start to trace over my chest and down my hips.

He's panting against my mouth as his hands continue their exploration. "Arthur, I love you," he breathes in my ear. "Please keep searching. Please find me." I don't understand. What do you want from me? Who are you and how is it that you seem so real? Why do you ask for impossible things?

Despite the questions, despite the desire, despite the discrepancy of my feelings and my thoughts, it does nothing to stop the small groan that escapes me when I feel the cold and solid touch of his gun against my head. "_Please _Arthur." Then his finger pulls the trigger.

X

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" I awake to a stream of pre-dawn light crawling over the end of my bed. I glance around the hotel room, gasping. I pull the needle from my arm and collapse back onto the sheets, head screaming in pain. In the week since Dom and I have been away from home, my encounters with him have only gotten worse. Dom is not going to be happy about it. This whole thing does not sit right with me. I've had a long time to analyze his behavior and he appears to be genuinely _real_—his movements, his speech patterns, and his knowledge, everything down to way he whispers my name. I spent over 8 years working at his side and I was living with him for the last two. How is it possible for me not to be able to tell the difference between him and a forgery? Unless…_unless_…

_Oh God_. Everything suddenly makes sense. The knowledge leaves me feeling utterly disgusted. How the hell did it take me so long to figure this out? _How_? I've always prided myself on my knowledge, on my ability to solve riddles. Clearly my ego was nauseatingly unfounded. My hands are shaking as I pick up my phone and press my speed dial. "Hey Arthur. Did you find something?" I open my mouth, yet for the first time since I was sixteen, speech fails me. When I do not respond for a full five seconds, Dom nearly breaks my eardrum with a hollered, "Arthur! What's wrong?"

I swallow thickly. And only then do the words hiss out of me, "They must have tortured him; forced him to relive his memories. That's the only way they would have been able to study his behavior with such precision and detail. It's the only way they would have gotten access to our shared memories. They tortured him so they could access me." My eyes widen as the words leave my mouth. They tortured him and ravaged his memories, _our _memories, so they could get to…_me_. For the first time in months I feel the guilt, the anger, and the grief that has been plaguing me join forces into one indescribable feeling. There is a high buzzing noise in my ear and the world about me goes white. I am numb. Anger, fury, rage, grief, sorrow, misery, they crawl under my skin and leave me breathless yet focused. Not even the feel of blood trickling down my finger gives me pause.

"Arthur? Calm down. I'll come back to the hotel right now. Just stay where you are. _Arthur_?" His words mean nothing to me. I will find these bastards and I will _slaughter _them. I will slit their throats and use their skin for jackets. "ARTHUR!" Your worries are futile. I will find them and nothing you say will stop me. "No, Arthur, wait!"

"Dom," I growl. "They are dead. Do you understand? They are _dead_." I click my phone off and toss it down. It takes several minutes before I have settled down enough to stand. Yet, strangely enough, when I do stand, there is a smile upon my lips. And isn't that just a peculiar thing?

X

I've made half a dozen calls before I realize the futility of my actions. The only information I can find with these stupid phone calls is what Cobb and I have already gathered from our other contacts over this past week: there is a specialized task force assigned by a business corporation to figure out the plausibility of manipulating and creating long distance dream sharing. The information does little to help my situation. I need names. I need _people_. General facts help me very little. I need to find these bastards before they fuck around anymore with my dreams. Whatever purpose they have for choosing me as a target I do not know. All I know is that I need to stop them, no matter the cost, not just for my sanity, but for the information I have logged away over the years. My phone rattles on the desk and I pick it up. The caller id reads 'Unknown Caller'. Mmm…so who might you be? Very few people have this number. I could just let it go to voicemail. But then I wouldn't be able to confront them, whoever they are. Curiosity gets the better of me and I receive the call. "Yes? Who is this?"

"Why hello, Arthur. I heard you're looking for us."

The words register in brain and everything slows. I remain utterly motionless as I breathe, "Who is this?"

"Now why would I tell you that?"

Stupid jackass. "What the hell do you want?"

"What do I want? Your mind of course." He lets out a low chuckle.

"For what end, Mister…?"

"You can call me John. John Smith." Asshole. I glare at the phone as he laughs again. My chest tightens in my fury and a strong desire to turn off the phone sears through me. No, Arthur. Be reasonable. "I merely wish to play a game with you, Artie."

"I don't play games, Mister Smith. If you knew me half as well as you think you do, then you would know this."

There is a pause. "Oh, Artie, I know you better than even your Cobb does." I can practically hear the leer in his voice. Where are you going with this? "Like that spot on your inner ankle that you love to have kissed." You fucking cunt! I will kill you. Make no mistake. Between the eyes as you kneel before me, my gun pressed to your forehead. "Is that a hint of tears I hear from you? Aw, darling, don't cry." The words ring in my ears and everything narrows down to this one moment.

"I will find you," I whisper. "I will find you and I will put a bullet through your head." And by God do I mean every last word.

"If you say so, Artie." He lets out a dramatic sigh and my hackles rise even more if that's possible. "Alas, as riveting as this conversation is love, I must be off. Things to do, you see." I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off with, "Tootles!" before hanging up.

My body roils in the heat of my rage, crawling down my skin, clawing at my brain. I can hardly breathe. I can barely stand it. The only mantra going through my ravaged brain is one word, 'Kill, kill, kill, kill'…


	4. Part 4

**Part 4**

"So, why don't you tell me why we're here? You clearly are the one with the power over this dream."

The man's eyes betray nothing. His grey ones meet my brown ones as we gaze at one another. We are so close that I can feel his breath upon my face. A large hand runs down my naked arm and twines with my fingers. I let him, despite the fury coiled low in my belly. "This is our home," he smiles. "We have made so many memories here."

I close my eyes and try to imagine for a moment that this isn't a dream and that he isn't a lie. You sound so sincere, so true. It makes me want to forget who you really are. It makes me want to pull you to my body and let you hold me. But I cannot. The anger clawing inside of me steadies my resolve and I reply, "That's a lovely sentiment. However, why don't you tell me who you really are?"

I force my eyes open to find him smiling at me. My jaw clenches at the expression. "I am Eames. Who else would I be?"

Narrowing my eyes, I respond with, "How about the man on the phone? How about any person trying to get into my head? You could be so many people…but not him. Eames," I swallow thickly around the word, "is dead. You and I both know this."

That handsome face frowns at my words. I ignore it. "How can I be dead? I'm right here."

I continue to ignore his comments, despite the side of me screaming at me to believe him. I force the futile hope away and snarl, "Why don't you tell me what your aim is? Why are you after me?"

His eyebrows seem to furrow even more. "My aim? To wake you up, darling. Always."

I don't know where it came from, but there is a gun in his hand. Damn it! Despite the fact that he's not who he appears to be, my stomach still twists with pain when I see the metal flash across my vision. "You don't need to do this," I murmur.

He gives me a pained smile and replies, "Until I can convince you of who I am I do."

He pulls the trigger.

I awake in a sweaty, panting mess. Pulling the needle from my arm I swear. Christ! That didn't go according to plan at all! Hell, he shot me before he answered even one of my questions! Not that I truly thought that he would. But it was worth a shot. A sharp pain sears behind my eyes and I grasp onto my head. Damn it! Rubbing my throbbing temples, I try to will away the headache pulsing in my skull. Urgh! I am _going_ to find these fucking bastards! No matter what it takes, I will find them and they will pay for what they have done to me, done to _us_. Make no mistake. It has taken me nearly an entire week on my own without Cobb holding me back, but I am nevertheless on your trail. I'm the point man, the intelligence officer. This is what I do. And if I have to put myself out on the line to find you people, I will do so.

X

"Two pair." I look at the members sitting around the table as I lay my cards down. Come on, you dicks. Just try to beat that. Each player in turn lays down their cards causing me to smirk. I grab hold of my chips and pull them towards me. "I suppose this means I've won."

"Cunt," I hear one of them mutter, whilst the others whisper unidentifiable insults amongst themselves.

"Listen," I reply. I glance up at the dealer and he nods at my look. He's walking away as I push my mound of poker chips into the center of the table, watching with hidden pleasure as each man follows the chips sliding across the felt surface. "I need some information. Word is this is the place to go."

The man sitting across from me snorts. "Yeah, well you heard wrong."

I tilt my head to the side and cock an eyebrow at him. "You do know how much money you have sitting in that pile there, don't you?"

He grimaces, but nods nevertheless. "What's your point?"

You honestly cannot be this stupid. "Whoever answers my questions gets the pot…all of it."

The air around me goes deathly silent at the words. Who knew paying off the dealer would work so well to my advantage? The man directly next to me mutters softly, "And what is that you are wishing to know?"

I grasp hold of one of the brown poker chips and twirl it between my fingers—a habit I watched him perform countless times. My lover never bothered to teach me such silly tricks, I learned them merely through observation. I take the chip and tap it against the table. "I'm looking for someone. Or rather, I'm looking for some people."

The man to my left scowls at the words and stands up hastily. "Count me out. It's not worth it." He storms out of the room and back into the main lounge of the casino. The other two men remain, glancing at each other before turning back to me.

I shrug at their unspoken question. "You two split the pot however you want if you answer my questions."

The man across from me curls his fingers into fists. "Alright," he forces out, "who are you looking for?" A little bit pissed that you lost the average person's yearly salary to me? How unfortunate for you.

I cut to the chase. These people are either going to tell me or not. No amount of extra cash is going to change that. "There's a group doing some work with long distance dream-share." Silence greets my words. "Well? Do you know who I'm talking about or not?"

The man sitting next to me sighs. Nonetheless he responds, "You're talking about Scion's new team."

My body stills at the words. Scion? The oil company? Cobb and I did work for them back before the Kobol job. Working with them almost got me killed. I was shot in the arm _twice_. The only reason I survived that particular fiasco was because Cobb can actually think on his damn feet when necessary. Those fuckers have never been known for making the _safest _transactions. The fact that they're behind this…well, that's just freaking fantastic. My line of thinking is cut off when the man continues, "Scion has been working on the project for nearly a year now. As far as I know, they have several small bases across the country."

"And over on this coast?" I question.

"There's a small team here in Reno and another larger scale one in L.A." My heart nearly stops. L.A.? FUCKING L.A.? These people have been right under my nose the _entire _time? Jesus!

"You aren't going to get anywhere near the base, if that's what you're thinking. They have those places locked down. You won't get within 200 feet." I am quite aware of that. I'm not a simpleton.

"Say I did want to find them or talk to them?" I ask quietly. Surely one of you must know how.

The man to my right lets out a heavy sigh. "We can give you a number and a place, but it won't do you much good. The fellows down in L.A. are tight bastards and don't depart with information easily. They hit the tables every week down at Commerce Casino, but you better bring big cash or you won't make it through the door."

Money is of absolutely no consequence. I haven't spent the last decade putting my life on the line for nothing. Our business may not always be legal, but the one thing it does do is bring in a good flow of cash. "Just give me the information and then you two can have at it."

The men both smile upon hearing the words. "Deal."

X

I'm sitting at the kitchen table when he walks into the flat. He drops his bags on the floor before swiftly coming to my side and dragging me from my chair. _Yes_! His soft lips crush mine and my body instantly relaxes into his. You're home. Finally you're home! It's been too long, _far _too long. His hands are roving everywhere they can get and I respond in kind. When his lips move away and down the slope of my shoulder I moan. "Christ. Three weeks is too long." I grasp hold of his hair and press his face harder against my skin. "Next time, just say 'no'."

A chuckle rumbles against my throat before he murmurs into my skin, "Really now, love? And here I was thinking that I was the insatiable one."

My witty response chokes to a halt when I feel my pants fall to the floor. "Bedroom," I hiss.

We stumble and trip over one another as we move, unable to keep ourselves from simply touching everywhere we can get. I love this man—everything about him: the breadth of his shoulders, the size of his hands, his chest, his jaw, his lips, even his fucking _stubble_. He is persistent and arrogant and temperamental. But he is all mine and that's all that matters. We land in a heap on the bed, the both of us laughing all the while. "Oaf!"

He smiles against my skin before moving upwards and giving me a quick peck on the lips. "Yet you're the one stuck with me forever, Arthur. You may have the grace, but I clearly have the brains."

I punch his arm and glare up into his face. "Dick."

"Yes, let's have lots of that tonight, shall we?"

Shit! My head falls backwards as he moves down the length of my body to grasp hold of my cock. When the warm heat of his mouth encompasses my length, my eyes flutter closed. _Fuck yes_. I've been waiting so long for this. I want you all the fucking time and it drives me crazy. What the hell are you doing to me?

A breathy cry tumbles out of my lips as he sucks at the head of my cock. He pulls back to whisper, "I love you, Arthur—forever. You know that, right?" _Nngh_. Stop teasing. Of course I know that you stupid sap. I grasp hold of his hair in an attempt to get him to finish. Now is not the time to be stopping! "Arthur?"

"Yes," I pant. "I know. And I love you too."

He kisses my length once. Twice. "I'm so sorry, darling. I never wanted this for us. I just wanted us to be together. Please don't abandon me now. Please don't leave me behind."

_What_?! What the fuck are you talking about? My eyes snap open just as I feel the barrel of the gun press against my throat.

FUCKING HELL! I open my eyes and look down at the needle sticking out of my arm. Argh! I tear at the needle and resist the urge to literally howl with anger. None of it was real! How could I have let this happen…_again_? How could I have been so deceived by my own desires? That was no memory. That was no reality either. That is what should have happened. That is what our reunion should have been like. And it was taken away from me. I run a hand through my hair before rolling out of my bed. I cannot do this anymore. I cannot use the PASIV. When I do, I either get trapped in my own desires and memories or those dickheads take over the dream. I dig my hand into my hair again and nearly growl like a beast. This is utterly out of control, for I cannot even control myself.

My phone breaks through inner ranting and I pick it up without a second thought. "Hello?"

"God, _finally_! Where the hell are you, Arthur?! I've been trying to get ahold of you over a week!" I groan into the phone when I hear that voice. Cobb.

"I'm perfectly fine, thanks for asking. I'm back in L.A. I've got a lead here and I'm going to check it out."

Dom gives an impatient exhalation. I can almost envision him tapping his foot when I hear the sound. "And you were planning on telling me this _when _exactly? I've spent the last week travelling around, bouncing back and forth between L.A., continuing on this search despite your utter disregard for me when you stormed off. And now, I find out that you've been relaxing at home because you've already found something?! You are a complete ass!"

I rub at my forehead where my typical migraine is rapidly coming back in full force. "Yes, yes, I'm an asshole, thank you for that wonderful observation. Now can I please get to work? You're distracting me."

"What about your intent on killing the entire population?" he mocks.

"Oh, I still intend to get back at those bastards. Make no mistake. But first I have to find them. Now goodbye, Dom. I'm hanging up."

"Wait, Arthur!" I hang up before he gets another word in. He most assuredly will be on the first flight home now that he knows where I am. I just have to make sure that I've done what I need to before then.

X

My car is parked and I am nearing the back room with my chips when I hear my name being called. "Arthur!"

_Okay_, who the hell here knows my name? I turn around to find a man in a dark suit walking up next to me. "Yes? Can I help you?"

He smiles at me before placing an unwanted hand on my shoulder. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to grasp hold of his fingers and break them. "Right this way. We've been expecting you."

Oh really? I guess my little trip to Reno didn't go totally unnoticed. I wonder how quickly it took those two snakes to call you guys up. On the other hand, they've have already contacted me once. And if I'm right, and these are the people who ransacked my lover's memories…well, then they know just as much about me as I do. We step into one of the private rooms where a group of five men are sitting. This will be an interesting evening. It's much easier to do this type of work one on one so to speak. As soon as I am able to, I shake the man's hand off my shoulder and take a seat. The dealer approaches the table and prepares the cards. There is minimal talking at the table and everyone is fairly ruthless in their game play. They weren't kidding when they said these guys were uptight. I don't win too many hands; however, without paying the dealer, I'm not exactly the most talented poker player. My boyfriend was always more skilled than I am at this game. Put him at a table and in an hour he would have doubled his winnings, no stacking required. I won't lie; there is a part of me that wishes I had that skill right now. My money is draining fast. If it continues like this, I'll be out of money within the hour.

After another fifteen minutes (and more money than I care to admit lost on my part) one of the men finally speaks to me. "So, Arthur, we heard you've been looking for us."

Don't play that card with me you asshole. You were the ones who have been contacting me and using my mind as a test subject for your injudicious experiments. "And if I am?"

His lips curl into an icy smile. Tread lightly, Arthur, lightly. You don't know what these men are capable of. "Then I'll tell you that you are barking up the wrong tree. We have no information to give you."

I do not smile back as I respond, "And I think you do."

The air seems to thicken and tense at my words. The dealer continues on regardless, forcing all the players to carry on with the game. The man responds to my comment with, "We are going to tell you nothing. Understand?"

I fold my next hand before linking my fingers together on the table. I am not letting you off that easy. "Is that what your co-worker was thinking when he called me a week ago?"

His eyes narrow dangerously and I take a composed breath. I am calm. I will control myself. Your reaction does not faze me. "What did you say?"

"Your co-worker, he had the most interesting tales to tell." I swallow down the bile creeping up my throat at the mere thought. I continue saying, with far more composure than I feel, "Funny, the personal details that he knew." Oh yes, that personal detail that he shared me makes me want to strangle someone…with both hands around their neck.

"His name?" the man hisses.

"John Smith." I give him a courtesy smile as I pick up my next hand.

"Don't fuck around with me, boy."

The smile on my face could probably curdle milk. Oh yes, I'm totally fucking around with _you_. "That is what he told me. Despite his cock of a name, he told me details about myself that only one person knew about me. Which has left me wondering how it is he came upon them."

The air in the room could be cut with a knife. The ire in my belly smiles contentedly. I know it was you. I know you bastards know what I'm talking about. Which begs the question, where did you bastards bury my lover's body? The man stands up abruptly causing me a moment's shock. "This conversation is over, Arthur. If you don't mind, this is a private room and you are not on the guest list."

"Fair enough," I murmur. I push back my chair and shove my meager winnings in my bag. I am almost to the door when I pause. Foolish of me? Perhaps. Yet I cannot help tossing over my shoulder, "Oh, and by the way. How did you all know my name? It's interesting, because I've never had a conversation with any of you before. Goodnight gentlemen."

I am out the door without a response. Have I just incidentally put a target on my back by provoking them? Perhaps. Yet, that's the point isn't it? If they bring the fight to me…well, maybe I'll just have a chance at redemption for him and for us.

X

I pull into the parking lot of the flat building and get out of the front seat. I open the back door and reach for my bag when I hear a high-pitched whiz in the air. I don't have any time to react. The back window of my car shatters as a bullet passes by my head. JESUS! Glass rains down at me and I fall to one knee to slam the door shut. Shit, shit, shit! I scramble into the front seat and shove the key of my car back into the ignition. Go, Arthur, go! The tires of my car are squealing as I whip out of the parking space. I hear the shattering of glass as a bullet passes through my back windshield. Argh! I paid a lot of money for this car you asshole! I'm out of the parking lot and pulling into traffic as one last bullet buries itself into the passenger seat. I drive as fast as I can, as far as I can. I must get away. That is the only fact that I recognize in the first few minutes as I drive.

It is only after I've gotten deeper into the city that I realize I'm panting. From fear or adrenaline I couldn't say. At least I wasn't wrong. I found who I was looking for. I wasn't expecting them to attempt assassination so quickly; however, it wasn't unexpected. There's only one place to go now: the safe house. Only two people alive today know the location of the place and one of them is me. If I'm lucky, Scion's people didn't recognize its significance when they were learning about us. I grab my phone from the center armrest and press my speed dial. The phone rings only twice before I get a response. "Arthur, you really need to stop this whole hanging up on me business. I'm getting pretty pissed about it. Now where are you? I just arrived at the airport."

"Dom now is not the time for scolding. The group is under Scion's control. I found some of them and poked my head around a bit."

"Jesus, Arthur! _Really_? So what's the damage done?"

You aren't going to like this. Not one bit. "Someone just tried to shoot me in the flat parking lot."

"Shit! Are you okay?"

"Well, I am, but my car isn't. I'm heading out to the safe house. You might want to get yourself home and make sure everything's okay with the kids."

"Okay. I'm on it. But I am not happy about this, Arthur. You should have waited until I got back. We could have come up with a better plan then you walking right into the lion's den."

Shut up, Dom. I don't need your nagging right now. "I had no other choice. You and I have been searching for weeks. _I _have been searching for weeks and between the two of us we have discovered _nothing_,found _nothing_. The only way to find out anything about them was to go directly to the source. Without doing so, you and I would have been missing out on work for a futile search. Until my dreams are my own again, we cannot hesitate."

He lets out a long exhale. I know you're upset, but this was for the best. You and I both know it. "Alright. I still don't think this was the best choice, but we can't do anything about it now. You go get yourself safe and call me if anything happens."

"I will. Bye, Dom."

"Bye, Arthur."

X

I look in the trunk of my car and groan. Why didn't I prepare more for this? I completely underestimated these people and it is entirely my fault. I grab my one meager bag out of the trunk, the one with one spare set of clothing and a gun. Wow, really ingenious Arthur, you have a total of two outfits for the duration of your time here. With a hefty sigh, I shut the trunk of my car and am met with the image of my shattered back windshield. Ugh. It's not as though I can't afford to fix it, nevertheless the fact that I have to fix it at all is aggravating.

I head into the safe house and bolt the door. If Cobb comes out here there's a spare key hidden outside. I go around the house and lock each door and window before pulling the blinds shut. From under the bed in Dom's room, I pull out the spare PASIV and the gun stash. Okay, _now _I'm good. I set myself up in the family room, popping in a movie to play in the background while I relax. This has been a strenuous day. All I want to do is sleep. As I'm lying on the couch, I can't help the way my eyes are drawn back to the PASIV sitting on the table. _No, _Arthur. NO. No matter how many times the word crosses my mind though, I cannot ignore the niggling thought at the back of my mind—maybe I _could _find out what they are planning if I go under again. I've only tried twice. Maybe this will be the time the fake boyfriend will reveal something to me.

I can practically hear Dom screaming in my head as I push in the needle…

X

"Oh, Eames!" Who the _fuck _dares say his name? "Dinner!" I peek around the corner and find myself looking into a basement room. What the hell is this? Two men are standing close together, talking in hushed whispers while a third is standing in front of a barred cell of sorts. Call it intuition, call it knowledge, call it whatever you will, but I know that this is a true locked down locale. "Don't give me that look, _darling_. You should be thanking me!" That snarky slimy voice…that's _him_—the man who called me! You bastard! God I wish I had a gun.

It's only then that I notice the man sitting in the cell. The out of control stubble, the mussed hair, the almost gaunt face, none of it could detract from the fact that the man sitting there in shackles is _my _boyfriend. He looks up at the man on the other side of the bars and pulls back his lips to bare his teeth. "You bloody fucking _cunt_," he hisses. "When I get out of here, I'm going to put a knife through your throat."

"Oh ho! The dog still has some bite to him! Nice to know. I wonder if I called Arthur again, would you howl too." My boyfriend's eyes look positively lethal as they gaze at the man. It's an expression I have seen very few times on his face. The look even scares me at times. "How does it feel, knowing that I've seen all those personal details, Eames? Like the fact that Arthur likes to be touched just there?" He runs a finger along his inner thigh with a leer. My lover's face twitches in a venomous glower at the movement. I have to agree. You are absolutely _abhorrent_. If I wasn't keeping myself hidden, I would kill you right now, only bare hands needed.

"Lay off him, Brent. Boss has already reprimanded you for goading the prisoner. We need him cooperative, not biting at the bit. If you keep this up, he's going to take you off guard duty."

Brent smirks through the bars before stepping back. "It's fine. Eames will live."

His co-worker rolls his eyes, but a phone goes off before he can reply. "Yup," he says, picking up the call. "Fuck, really? _Now_? I thought Johnny had kept good tabs on him the last couple weeks." He pauses and listens for another minute. "Damn greenhorns! Can they not complete the simplest of tasks?! If Brent and I had been put on the task first, Arthur would be dead and we wouldn't be having this conversation!'

Everything in the rooms seems to grow still and silent as death. I am stuck staring at the horrified expression on my lover's face. He didn't know they meant to kill me. He didn't know. Brent turns and gives him a coy smile. "Aw, Arthur's escaped…_for now_."

The other man mumbles assent into the phone and then turns to Brent. "Bosses orders. Come on, Brent. You can pester Eames another time. Billy, you stay here."

Billy glances at his companion with a concerned frown. "But we're supposed to have three guards at all times with prisoners."

"Well, this is an emergency. Arthur is sniffing around. If we don't take him down, who knows what'll happen? People cannot know what we've been doing. " He turns and heads up the staircase with Brent a step behind, the latter of which doesn't resist tossing a smirk over his shoulder at their prisoner.

My knees feel weak, my head is a whirl. I'm going to die. These people are going to hunt me down like an animal. What have I done? Minutes pass. I do nothing but stare at my lover behind the bars, watching the never-ending flickering of emotions across his face. His eyes are razor sharp, his thoughts racing. Almost in utter contradiction to this focused look, in a split second, his eyes roll backwards and he falls to the ground, twitching and convulsing. NO! What's going on?! Help him! HELP HIM! Billy swears and unlocks the cell door.

My eyes open and I'm screaming. "EAMES!" I am practically choking on my own spit as I pull the needle from my arm. What the _hell _was that? That's how you died? Oh God, Eames. I close my eyes and refuse the tears their release. I will not let you control me! Standing up, I make my way into the kitchen to drink a glass of water and put the kettle on, if only in a desperate attempt to distract myself. No matter what meaningless task I do though, the image of his jerking body flashes behind my eyelids, over and over again like a horror movie caught on replay. By the time my tea is ready my head is throbbing in downright agony. What is happening to me? These headaches are getting worse by the day and I don't know how to stop them.

I take my tea with me to the family room and collapse onto the couch. Christ does this _hurt_. I set my tea down on the coffee table so that I can rub at my eyes. That's when the ringing begins. With a snarl, I grab my phone off the table and answer. "Hello?"

"Arthur, you okay? I just wanted to check in."

"I'm fine, Dom."

"You don't sound fine," he scolds me.

With a deep groan, I roll onto my side. "I have a migraine. I'm going back to sleep. Don't worry. Everything is secure here."

Dom snorts. "Okay, but stay safe. I'll check in with you in a couple days."

"Goodbye, Dom."

"Bye, Arthur."

X

"I'm completely serious! Arthur, stop! Don't laugh!"

I am laughing, so hard that I am holding onto my sides. My lover is scowling at me; yet, despite his frown, I can see the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in an unwanted grin. Around the chuckles, I force out the words, "You look like a fucking clown. You are _not _going to Yusuf's wedding dressed like that."

He pulls at the necktie around his neck, almost as if he were embarrassed, although I know he's not. At my look, the frown finally falls off his face and he laughs with me. "Come on, I love this suit."

"Where in God's name did you buy that? Wait, no, let me guess—a charity shop that sells vintage clothing. Am I anywhere near the mark?" I cross my arms over my chest and look at him expectantly.

He grins sheepishly at me and scratches the back of his head. "Maybe…"

"_Seriously_? A _resale shop_? That's where you decided to buy your outfit for Yusuf's wedding? Consider yourself lucky that I'm here because if you had gone in this, you may have been punched."

He steps closer to me and wraps a thick hand about my waist. "Is that so?" he grins at me.

I grab hold of his tie and start to loosen it, still grinning like an utter idiot. "Yes. Now do you mind if we get you naked? That's a much better look on you."

He gives my cheek a quick peck before murmuring, "That can be arranged."

X

Urgh…What? I open my eyes and find myself on the couch, my gun resting on the coffee table next to the PASIV. The case is open, but the cord is not attached to my arm. Damn it. I almost used the PASIV again didn't I, even after everything that has happened? After my last trip under went so horribly wrong? After I had to watch him _die_?Fuck it all!

I stand up and grab hold of the gun before heading into the kitchen. I've only ever been to the safe house once. We were just finishing up a messy job down in Mexico and we stopped here before heading home, at least until everything had settled down. Dom wasn't too happy about the situation. Not that I can blame him. He had to be separated from the kids for a couple weeks and my boyfriend and I didn't exactly make things easy on him. He pounded on the wall more than once if I remember correctly.

I pour myself a bowl of cereal and stare at the fridge. Damn safe house. There's no milk in here. Hell, this cereal probably isn't even good anymore. Ugh. Well, I'm starving and the options are cereal or a different type of cereal. I take the bowl and head back towards the couch. Clicking on the T.V., I set down my gun and start to nibble on the flakes in my bowl. This is outright unappetizing. Disgusting.

"You've never liked corn flakes. Still tastes like cardboard, huh?"

The bowl shatters on the ground as I grab my gun off the table and stand up. I'm pointing my gun and staring, ignoring the sound of glass rolling on the ground at my feet. There's a man in the doorway of the family room, all broad shoulders and unkempt hair. His face is slightly gaunt and there's a splash of dried blood on his cheek and his clothing, but his eyes…his eyes are a flaming grey, boring into mine with such intent, such passion. Those eyes are so familiar. _No_. You aren't him! I look at the PASIV on the table. I must have used it. I must still be under. My dream—the one of him in the cage—one of Scion's men must be fucking around with me some more; even now they are doing so, forging this _escaped _version of my lover. Christ. I have had _enough_! This is the final straw! I look back at the faintly sickly imitation of him and growl, "Who the _fuck_ are you?! Continually invading my dreams, my memories. To what purpose? What could you people possible gain from torturing me like this?! Just tell me!"

He shakes his head at my words and presses his lips together in a scowl. When he opens his mouth and speaks, it is as though he were in pain, "I thought you were dead. I heard them talking about it. They were going to kill you. I knew if I was ever going to escape it had to be then." His fingers clench tightly into fists whilst his body shakes with nearly suppressed rage. "I couldn't let them kill you. I couldn't let those bastards get to you."

"Just shut up!" You aren't him! I am dreaming and you are false! "I know what you've done. First you tried to make me believe that he was alive. Now you're trying to make me believe that not only is he alive, but that he's somehow miraculously escaped. I'm not a simpleton. My boyfriend has been dead for many months and you will not convince me otherwise, no matter how good your forgery is."

His eyes are so serious. Not happy. Not laughing. Not like his usual self. He looks tired, his face drawn into fatigued lines. "Arthur, darling, please, don't argue with me. Not this time. You cannot imagine what thoughts went through my head when I went to the flat. The apartment was utterly ruined—clothes and glass everywhere. They broke the T.V. by the way. I paid a fortune for that damn thing."

_Shut up_! Stop talking and joking like him. I push past the feelings tightening my throat and force out the words, "Eames is gone. He is dead. You are from Scion's group. You killed him!"

He steps further into the room and holds up his hands, almost as though approaching a wild animal. "I can understand why you think so, but I am here and real."

"Don't step any closer!" In my turbulent fear, I aim the gun at the forgery's head. Against all the twisted feelings in my gut, my gun hand is steady, as it has always been. "I will kill you."

His lips twist into weary smirk. "I know you will, Arthur. But will you at least let me try to talk you out of this?'

A mirthless chuckle bubbles out of me. "Oh sure, be my guest."

My eyes do not leave his as he his lips transform in a self-deprecating smile. "I can't believe I have to admit this, but with the work we've been doing, I thought we were safe. I let my guard down. They took me right there in the parking lot of the airport. Chloroform from the backseat of the car." He snorts in that way that indicates he's utterly appalled. "I couldn't believe it." Okay, yeah, sounds reasonable. But Scion would know these details just as well. "I cannot even begin to explain to you what has gone on since they took me." As if holding back tears, he closes his eyes. "Some days I wished for it to be over. I wished for death." There is a pause, but then his eyes are open again and he is looking straight at me. That look is steady, controlled, and unwavering. It causes my breath to catch. "But I am quite alive and I can only be thankful that I am. They told me they were going to kill you. I don't know what I would do if you died."

The words actually cause me to laugh. "If _I _were to die? I have spent the last _six _fucking months without you! Six months!" You dick! I am shaking with my rage and if I am honest, with my grief. I want him to be real. I want to believe his words and that he really is who he claims to be. I want to run to him and wrap him in my arms, like the love-sick fool that I am. Yet I cannot. "Some days I can't stand it. I've used the PASIV so many times that I no longer recognize what's real and what's not. But there is one thing that I do know. Eames is dead. And my interactions with him in the dreamscape are nothing more than Scion's forgeries. This means I'm still dreaming." I put the gun to my throat and take in a shuddering breath. I will wake up and this dream will be over. This torture will end.

"NO!" he screams. He puts his hands out in a pleading gesture. Christ, he's _shaking_. "You aren't dreaming! Check your totem if you must! But please don't make me watch you die."

"Watch me die?" I whisper. "Afterwards, I will wake up. This is what you've been insistent on, right? To wake me up?"

That strong jaw clenches and he breathes in deeply in an attempt to steady himself. "You don't understand. It was me invading your dreams. I wanted you to know that I was alive. I _needed _you to know that I wasn't dead."

"That's not even possible," I snap. "Even if you were alive, Scion's the one with all the control. They are the one doing all of the long distance work." See—pure, plain, simple logic.

"Arthur," he murmurs softly. A weak smile crosses his lips before he continues, "I know you insult my intelligence on a near daily basis, but you know me. Do you really think during all that time they experimented on me that I didn't learn anything? It was hard, yes, but I observed, I adapted, I _learned_." His eyes positively radiate hatred as he hisses, "They ransacked my memories to learn what I was capable of and you as well. They wanted to know if you'd be useful." His eye gives a little twitch and his lips pull back in his anger. "They decided you were a liability—that they'd rather keep you at a safe distance and kill you if you came too close. So yes, Arthur," he breathes, "it was me. I invaded your dreams. I killed you."

Could it be possible? What he's saying. Could he possibly be _real_? Oh no, don't do this, Arthur. Don't be swayed by pretty words. Despite my internal scold, my gun arm begins to drop. "Y-you have to be dead." With shaking fingers, I pull out my totem from my pocket. I drop the die onto the coffee table and watch it roll to a stop. Nope. It must be a trick. I grab it again and roll it, once, twice, even a third time. This…is real? Truly real?

"Arthur," he says gently. "How can you say that I'm dead? You never found my body did you? Never heard _any _news of my death? I know you. You searched for weeks, even months to find me. You didn't find _anything_ did you?" My mouth opens and closes. I don't know how to respond. Better yet, I _can't _respond. "Arthur," he repeats. "Roll the dice again if you must. I will stand here all day if necessary." And then his lips pull up into a huge smile, one that encompasses his entire face, just like him, just like _my Eames_. "You are a stubborn arse, darling. But I'm willing to wait."

My dice drops from my numb fingers and back onto the table. This is _real_. He's honest to god _real_.

"Eames?" I choke. "E-Eames?" I gasp out a breath and drop my gun onto the table. "You're _alive_?"

The words cause him to give a little laugh. "Yes, Arthur. I'm home." Despite the indignity of it all, I find that there are tears on my face as I stumble across the room towards him. I reach a trembling hand to touch his whiskered face. The feeling of his jaw, of his stubble, all of it is the same. Oh Jesus. It is you.

I throw my arms about his shoulders and in turn his arms wrap about my body. He arms squeeze me tightly to his front causing me to sigh. Feeling this warm body against my own is amazing, like some long forgotten dream. It is perfect. "I missed you," I whisper. I breathe in his scent, so long lost but so fondly remembered. Oh fuck it is amazing. He buries his face against my neck and even though his unshaven cheek burns my skin, I don't care. He is here in my arms and that is all that matters. Eames is here. He's home and he's _alive_.

We stand there like that, wrapped around each other with nothing but the sound of our heart's beating furiously. After a few moments, I notice that his body has started shaking; and only then do I realize that he's crying. "These past months have been like an eternity."

I run my hands over his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. Turning my face towards his, I lay a kiss on the side of his head. "You're home now, Eames. We're together again. You did it. You escaped and you're free."

"They'll come for us," he whispers.

I close my eyes against the thought. "And this time, we'll be ready for them. I promise."

He takes in a shuddering breath before his replies, "I love you, Arthur."

"I love you too, Eames. Always."


End file.
